“I’d give anything,” he remarked, “to see our little Vee happily and comfortably married. There’s nothing happened at all!” She didn’t mean, he concluded, to give him any more trouble ever, and he was free to begin a fresh chromatic novel—he had just finished the Blue Lagoon, which he thought very beautiful and tender and absolutely irrelevant to Morningside Park—or work in peace at his microtome without bothering about her in the least. Spurlock was no longer a man before this instinct; he was a child in trouble. For Ruth grew lovelier as the days went on. “It rained the whole of the time, but we saw all the sights, and the place never seemed dull. I’ll pay it. The wound lay open for five seconds, and then closed neatly as if it had been stitched by invisible hands.
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